


Falling Out of Love at This Volume

by methequins



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Oral Sex, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:32:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3282173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methequins/pseuds/methequins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's easy to make bad decisions when you're drunk and suffering the affects of Nazi experimentation, not to mention pining after your best friend, who isn't your best friend anymore, not really. Bucky seems to learn everything the hard way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Out of Love at This Volume

**Author's Note:**

> ok so i'm pretty sure everyone knows this by this point but in case you didn't: you know that scene in the first avenger where the howling commandos are all at that bar in london and peggy comes in and talks to steve and completely ignores bucky who is right next to him. well the bartender in that scene is the main body double for skinny steve at the beginning of the movie. so this fic is inspired by that scene
> 
> (this is probably rlly historically inaccurate but it's just a short little thing so i don't care all that much sorry)

Bucky doesn’t like the feeling of being invisible. It’s not something he’s used to. He’s used to dames fawning over him and his charming smile, with Steve hovering by his side like a tiny shadow. But Steve isn’t tiny anymore, nor is he the invisible one. That is proven all too much by one Agent Carter, drawing all eyes to her in that slinky red dress, but her eyes were only for Steve.

Bucky had trouble swallowing down the hot flames of jealousy curling in his chest.

The glassy look and dazed smile on Steve’s face even after Peggy leaves only makes it worse, because Bucky has never, ever seen Steve make that face. And he’s seen Steve make just about every face in the book. “You’re real sweet on her, huh?” he teases, glad he’s able to keep his tone light and easy.

Steve’s eyes snap to Bucky, but he’s still grinning like a dope. “She’s somethin’ else, Buck.”

“Yeah, that’s for sure.” Bucky rolls his eyes and walks around the bar to grab himself another drink.

Everything had changed since Steve had rescued him from Zola’s lab. Steve was twice his original size, taller than Bucky, and that alone was just fucking weird. Bucky was still mourning the loss of the man he had known, because even though in that huge body he knew the same Steve still existed, but – it wasn’t the same. Because now Steve was this big American hero and people looked up to him and admired him and noticed him, and it wasn’t right.

Bucky was supposed to be the only one who looked at Steve that way.

“What can I do you for?” The voice of the bartender interrupts Bucky’s train of thought and he lifts his head to look at the guy.

He hadn’t noticed from afar, but there’s something painfully familiar about that bartender. He’s small, bony, like he’d be snapped in half if the wind blew the wrong way. He has long, thin artist’s fingers and a crooked smile.

It was like someone had put a stranger’s head on top of Steve’s old body.

Bucky stares at him until the bartender’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. Bucky blinks and shakes his head. “Sorry. A beer. Beer’s fine.”

The bartender fetches the beer and Bucky accepts it gratefully and takes a long swallow. But when he puts the glass down, the bartender is still there, looking curiously at him. Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“You seem distressed,” the bartender says. Bucky doesn’t answer. “They all seem to be having a good time.” He nods towards the table in the corner, where Steve and the rest of the Howling Commandos are making quite a ruckus. “Why aren’t you with them?”

“Don’t much feel like celebrating,” Bucky says with a wry smile.

Everything hurts. There is fire in his veins and it’s clawing to get out of his skin. His hand tightens on his glass so his knuckles go white. He’s had the worst headache ever since Steve rescued him, and he keeps hoping it will go away, but it doesn’t. So he drinks. He doesn’t want to think about it. He drains his glass in two long swallows and asks for another.

Slowly, like a warm blanket being draped over him, comes oblivion. He is drunk. He has been more drunk than this in his life, so drunk he made himself sick and so drunk he can’t even remember how drunk he actually was. But he is drunk enough that he is likely to make some very bad decisions.

The bartender keeps talking to him, interested in his story as Captain America’s sidekick. Bucky talks and talks until he runs out of stories from his childhood with Steve, until the patrons of the bar trickle out one by one, until it is late and he and the bartender are the only ones left.

“Shit,” Bucky says with a sheepish grin. “I didn’t realize it’d gotten so late. I don’t want to keep you.”

“I don’t mind,” the bartender says. There’s a shy sort of smile on his face as he takes Bucky’s glass and starts cleaning it. “It’s not every day that handsome American soldiers with interesting stories come wandering in.”

Bucky blinks. Something clicks inside his head.

“Want me to walk you home?” he offers. His grin turns charming. It’s the kind of grin that’s scored him all kinds of dames in the past, that always makes Steve forgive him when Bucky’s made him mad, that can make him get away with murder. “It’s late.”

“I’d appreciate it. I just need to lock up.”

Bucky waits outside and smokes a cigarette, the ash burning down his throat in a way that feels good, in a way that distracts from the fire in his veins. The world is soft around the edges and he thinks this might be the first time he’s been happy since – shit, probably since the last time he saw Steve.

The real Steve. Not Captain America.

The bartender comes outside and locks the door behind him. Bucky drops the spent cigarette to the ground and crushes it under his boot. “Lead the way,” Bucky says, and the bartender does.

They walk in relative silence for a few blocks. Bucky hasn’t gotten to know London terribly well, but he’s taking note of which direction they’re going in so that he can be sure he knows how to get back to base. He’s drunk but he’s sure as hell not gonna be wandering the streets all night long. But the bartender seems to know exactly where he’s going. The streets aren’t very well-lit but it gets darker when they head down a side alley.

Bucky knows what’s coming and he welcomes it.

He isn’t sure who starts it – he thinks it was the bartender but it could certainly have been him. But they’re kissing, hard, and Bucky is backing the bartender up against the wall of the alley. This is silent desperation and nothing at all like the soft way he kisses women. His hand is gripping that bony shoulder so hard it probably hurts and there are smaller hands tugging at his shirt and teeth and tongue and – it’s good.

He wastes no time unbuttoning the bartender’s shirt, kissing him furiously all the while. The bartender isn’t wearing an undershirt which is a blessing, honestly, and Bucky’s lips rove from lips to jaw to neck. He kisses and sucks and bites and is greeted with huffs of breath and quiet whimpers. His hands smooth over skin, soft thin skin barely covering piano-key ribs and razor-sharp hipbones. A chest that’s heaving in a struggle to get air.

“Steve,” Bucky mumbles, his breath hot against neck skin. “Fuck, Steve.”

The body beneath his hands freezes. Bucky pulls away and looks at an unfamiliar face, the mouth kiss-flushed and downturned with confusion and concern.

“Sorry,” Bucky says. “Just – I need this. Please, I need this.”

He hates how desperate he sounds but he is too drunk and too needy to care.

The bartender studies Bucky. And then he nods.

Bucky leans down and kisses him again, but it’s gentler this time. Slow. Because he wants to take care of Steve and make him feel loved – after all, hasn’t that always been his job? Taking care of Steve? His hand finds the small of a back, the knobs of a spine; his tongue skims over teeth that aren’t his own. He is lost in his fantasy, the one where he’s actually kissing Steve, the way Steve used to be, the man he fell in love with. And Steve is kissing back like he wants to.

He knows it’s too good to be true but, at least for a little while, he can pretend.

Before he knows it he’s on his knees on the pavement and there’s a cock in his mouth. He holds onto sharp hips to keep himself steady and all he can think about is Steve, making Steve happy, making Steve feel good. He wants to be good to Steve. And he doesn’t want anyone else to touch Steve like this.

Bitter warm semen splashes down his throat and he knows he will regret this in the morning.

After being jerked off by a small hand with long fingers and an orgasm that leaves him feeling more empty than ever before, he and the bartender part ways and he makes his way through the dark and unfamiliar streets back to the bar, and from there, back to base. He can’t get the soapy taste out of his mouth and he feels disgusting, like the guilt of what he’s done is written all over his face. He stumbles into the barracks and is surprised to see Steve still up, a book open on his lap. Steve looks up when Bucky comes in, studies him, and smirks.

“I know that look,” Steve teases. “She any good?”

Bucky forces what he hopes is a sly grin. “Hell yeah. I’m gonna pass out though, I’m wiped.”

“Alright. ‘Night, Buck.”

Bucky strips to his undershirt and boxer shorts and collapses into bed. “’Night, Steve.”

And for just a moment, everything feels normal.


End file.
